The Wistful Mountain

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2026-08-20 07:34:58 -

The rain had not ceased for three days, a persistent, gray weeping that turned the streets of London into a mirror of the sky, reflecting the blurred neon of the shops and the hunched silhouettes of those who hurried to escape the damp. I stood in the hallway of our narrow terraced house, the air thick with the scent of damp wool and the metallic tang of the old iron stove, watching the water...

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